 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
XV
He saw their dread then slowly said“How many? and when will they come?”
“Pass me the guard line, chief,” I said,
“Pass me the guard and you shall know
What says, what means that chilling drum:
Night gathers, and the ghostly dead
Are not more noiseless where they go
Than I shall go, go, come again;
Or, silent, join the happier slain.”
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |